


Ficlet Advent Calendar 2012

by Anarion, days_of_storm



Series: Ficlet Advent Calendar 2012 [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Advent Calendar, Cock-Blocking, Hand job in a cab, Humor, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Slash, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:17:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 14,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarion/pseuds/Anarion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/days_of_storm/pseuds/days_of_storm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas time. Did you ever wonder what Sherlock and John do in December? We (Anarion and Days_of_storm) will tell you in our little daily (and rather smutty) Advent stories.<br/><b>Quickly approaching the Christmas climax. Literally.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 1

**Author's Note:**

> We have written a 221b Advent calendar together last year, and this year we're doing another one (though not exclusively 221bs). We will post in rotation, so you get a story by Days_of_storm one day and one from Anarion the next day, right up until Christmas.  
> Apart from the overall Christmasy theme we decided to continue from where the previous part stopped, so that there will be one story in the end. Let's see how that works out.

John filled cider into a pot and put it on the stove, adding cinnamon and brown sugar, cloves and a tiny splash on rum. He had managed to keep himself from humming Christmas songs, chiding himself that it was too early to get into the mood for Christmas; but as he was stirring the cider, he wondered if he shouldn’t rather enjoy it while it lasted. Sherlock didn’t differentiate between holidays and any other day of the year; well, except his birthday, which John counted as a great achievement. Two years ago John had gotten so upset with Sherlock not wanting to celebrate his birthday that he had actually locked him in his bedroom and had given an half hour speech on why he was important and why it was important that he at least let people show him that they appreciated him being there; him being alive.

John could have sworn that his chin had wobbled for a few moments but when he had finished, Sherlock had asked him to unlock the door and then gone to sit on the couch to read the few text messages he had received.

The year after, he had let John bake him cake and accepted the flowers with a small smile and a kiss. John wondered how he was – now that Sherlock expected something from him – supposed to think of Christmas and birthday presents at the same time, since Sherlock’s birthday was only two weeks after Christmas. It was hard enough to find something he wouldn’t dismiss with a sneer once a year, but John knew that cake and flowers wouldn’t suffice this time. And maybe, he thought to himself, maybe it wasn’t really Sherlock’s expectation, but he would want both Christmas and Sherlock’s birthday to be something special. Special, because Sherlock had been back in his life for almost three years now and he wanted him to know how glad he was that he was back; and that he was his.

He took the cider off the stove and filled it into two mugs to carry them over into the sitting room where Sherlock had been updating his blog for the first time in weeks. Before he could grab the mugs, though, Sherlock appeared in the door, sniffing the air. “Are you going to try and get me tipsy in the middle of the day?”

John grinned at him. “It’s always after five o’clock somewhere in the Empire.”


	2. December 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time. Did you ever wonder what Sherlock and John do in that month? We (Anarion and Days_of_storm) will tell you in our little daily Advent stories.  
> It starts on December 1st, John is making punch and Sherlock is updating his blog (rating G). Let's see where the story takes us (and how fast we can work our way to 'explicit'. *ahem*)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have written a 221b Advent calendar together last year, and this year we're doing another one (though not exclusively 221bs). We will post in rotation, so you get a story by Days_of_storm one day and one from Anarion the next day, right up until Christmas.  
> Apart from the overall Christmasy theme we decided to continue from where the previous part stopped, so that there will be one story in the end. Let's see how that works out.

Sherlock reread his blog entry on blood patterns – groundbreaking and fascinating like all his entries – and then mentally resurfaced in the world of 221B.

John was in the kitchen, Sherlock could hear clattering and he smelled cinnamon, cloves and warm cider. John was making punch. It was that time of the year again...

Sherlock was not very keen on the whole Christmas business, but John loved it, so he went along. Although they had never invited friends over after that one time that ended with a visit to the morgue for Sherlock and a break-up for John. Not something Sherlock liked to dwell upon (well, maybe on the break-up...), like all things from _before_.

He pushed the unpleasant thoughts away and got up to walk over to the kitchen. The punch was ready so he turned around and walked back to the sofa, leaving it to John to carry the mugs.

He had to admit that it tasted good. Not that he said it out loud, but John was very good at reading his expressions by now. Lying to him was almost impossible and therefore a tempting challenge now and then. But not today. John was in a good mood and Sherlock’s brain was not yet screaming for something to occupy itself with.

He leaned back, until his shirt stretched over his chest, licked his lips and turned his head to look at John, whose gaze slowly traveled over Sherlock’s body until it came to rest on his face and he returned the look.

After a few moments the temperature of the room seemed to rise when John put down his mug and slowly walked over to Sherlock. With a practised move he straddled his lover on the sofa and leaned down to kiss him.

Suddenly Sherlock’s mobile rang and the sound was so loud in the room that both men jumped a little and the not-yet-kiss almost ended with two bloody lips.


	3. December 3

For a few moments, neither of them moved. Both tried to hold on to the heat which slowly dissolved with every new ring. Eventually Sherlock pushed John away, placing a kiss on his neck as he stood up. His face scrunched up when he looked at the screen of his phone, making John realise that only one person could be on the other end and simultaneously making him feel that Sherlock was unfairly adorable. He knew better than to tell him, but he batted his eyelashes when Sherlock answered. “Mycroft, there is too much of the day left to be spoiled by you right now.”

John grinned and picked up his mug. Maybe a little more alcohol might help to heat things up again when Sherlock would *fingers crossed* return to the couch.

“Yes, you are interrupting.” Sherlock sounded like he was about to hang up on Mycroft, but for some reason he didn’t. John spread his legs and lazily stroked one hand up and down his thigh, smiling when Sherlock blinked a couple of times and then turned away in an attempt not to be distracted. It took him exactly two seconds to turn back to John and another two until he raised his chin a fraction as if to challenge John.

Somehow it felt incredibly dirty to strip for Sherlock while he was on the phone with his brother; but then again he figured that Sherlock might want to make Mycroft uncomfortable, and this would definitely help.

Rolling his shoulders back and taking on a lightly affronted expression, John started unbuttoning his shirt.  

Sherlock inhaled deeply but then didn’t say anything.

John knew the effect of unbuttoning his shirt was slightly spoiled by the white t-shirt he wore underneath; something which Sherlock had unsuccessfully tried to strike off his list of necessary items to wear; but then again almost all of John’s clothes had been taken off that list by Sherlock anyway.

So he decided to surprise Sherlock, who undoubtedly expected him to tackle the t-shirt next, and reached for his belt.


	4. December 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time. Did you ever wonder what Sherlock and John do in that month? We (Anarion and Days_of_storm) will tell you in our little daily Advent stories.  
> It starts on December 1st, John is making punch and Sherlock is updating his blog (rating G). Let's see where the story takes us (and how fast we can work our way to 'explicit'. *ahem*)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is day 4 of the Advent calendar filled with little ficlets, brought to you by days_of_storm and me. We will post in rotation, so you get a story by me one day and one from her the next day, right up until Christmas.  
> Apart from the overall Christmasy theme we decided to take over from where the other left off in her chapter so that there will be one story in the end. Let's see how that works out.

Sherlock picked up the phone and thought ‘Damn you, brother!’

The relationship of the two brothers was – if possible – even more complicated now than it had been before. 

John would never learn to what extent Mycroft had helped Sherlock in his three year long absence, but Mycroft knew and Sherlock knew. That was enough.

Not that Mycroft would ever voice the fact that he had a strong hold on his younger brother now, but that didn’t discourage him from exploiting it whenever he could.

Sherlock was torn between hate, because he now owed Mycroft, and gratefulness, because Mycroft had not only supported and helped him with his mission, he had also supported and protected John. 

 

“Please tell John to stop exciting you in a sexual manner. I can hear you pant. I need you to focus on what I say. This concerns national security.”

Sherlock forced his concentration from the very exciting prospect of John opening his belt back to the phone call.

“Since when do you trust me with that?”

“Do we have to do this now? I can send my men to fetch you, but it would be so much easier if you came on your own. We all have better things to do, don’t we?”

Sherlock heard the sneer in Mycroft’s voice and hung up without saying good bye.

John clearly had felt the change in his mood because he was already closing his belt again. Sherlock sighed inwardly.

“What did he say?”

“He wants me in his office now. Will you come with me?”

“Always.”

As they were walking down the stairs, John grinned at him. “You know, I had slightly different plans for this afternoon.”

Sherlock raised a suggestive eyebrow. “Why don’t you tell me about your plans in the cab?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for ruining the porn! *hides*


	5. December 5

John was tempted. So very tempted. But then again, he had no idea what they were up to, so he forced himself to focus on what was happening instead of getting excited about cab-blow-jobs which would never really happen anyway. Well, they happened in theory and in late night dirty talk, but not in real life.

With a sigh he ducked into the cab, ignoring Sherlock’s hand on his bum as he leaned forward. Instead he tried to focus on why they were leaving their flat in which some perfect early afternoon sex would surely have happened if Mycroft hadn’t called; and if Sherlock had ignored him.

Sherlock sat down, close enough for his shoulder and leg to press against John’s.

“Why are we going?” John asked, trying to ignore the  fact that Sherlock only wore a glove on his right hand, leaving his left hand free to… well, whatever he was planning, John wouldn’t budge; not now. If he had to wait to get what he wanted, Sherlock would have to wait, too.

“Mycroft needs us to do some ‘research’.”

“He knows how to use Google,” John murmured, absent mindedly pressing his leg against Sherlock’s. Only when Sherlock actually giggled did John wonder whether all of this was only happening so he’d have to wait. Just when he began to change his mind about the cab-blow-job-thing, Sherlock turned his head and kissed him.

“What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Normally I’d say no, but not under these circumstances,” John frowned at him, but felt his body betraying him already.

“You were thinking about it,” Sherlock admitted quietly. “You were honestly thinking about it, so you do consider it to be an option.”

“I hate you.”

“Do you, now?” Sherlock smirked and placed his ungloved hand over the ever more obvious bulge in John’s trousers. “Can’t show up like this in front of Mycroft, can you?”


	6. December 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time. Did you ever wonder what Sherlock and John do in that month? We (Anarion and Days_of_storm) will tell you in our little daily Advent stories.  
> It starts on December 1st, John is making punch and Sherlock is updating his blog (rating G). Let's see where the story takes us (and how fast we can work our way to 'explicit'. *ahem*)

Sherlock knew that John would never agree to a blow job in the cab, not even a hand job, not while it was still light outside and the cab got stuck in traffic regularly so that people could look through the windows.

He moved his hand until it was resting on John’s thigh, a perfectly innocent place should someone peek into the cab, but still close enough so that he could run his little finger over the bulge. John bit his lip in an adorable attempt to hide his moan.

Sherlock looked straight ahead, seemingly uninterested in his companion. The driver was focused on the traffic and the light was indicating that he could not hear what was spoken in the back.

“Why do you punish me for something Mycroft did?”

“I’m not punishing you.”

“And what do you call this?”  
“Foreplay.”

He moved his finger again, with a little more pressure this time and John dug his fingers into the seat.

“We will have to make a stop somewhere before seeing Mycroft. I really can’t go into his office like that. Although he will know that we had sex anyway. Sometimes I hate the two of you.”

“Hm.” Sherlock was a little distracted by the fact that John had just started to make small, unconscious movements with his hips, which in turn caused his own trousers to get rather tight.

The taxi stopped and a school class swarmed around the cab. John stilled and groaned – in slight panic, not arousal.

“Relax. To anyone but me you look completely normal.”

“Oh, and what do I look to you?”

“Ready to burst?”

“God, yes.”

The cab started moving again. As did Sherlock’s finger. And John’s hips.

“Please tell me you have a plan.”

“Don't I always?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, the porn is back!
> 
> Happy St. Nicholas Day! :D


	7. December 7

John looked outside and realised that they’d only have a handful of minutes to either stop everything now or get it over with. He would never live this down if Sherlock made him walk anywhere in his state; not even if it was just from the cab over to the door in Whitehall. Mycroft would know.

Judging by the insisting finger against his erection and his own middle which had decided to just make decisions for him, he reached over and returned the favour, so to speak. Sherlock grinned at first, but within a minute he was shifting uncomfortably, his eyes glazing over a bit and his lips opened involuntarily. No sound came out, but John was sure that if he kept it up longer, Sherlock wouldn’t stay quiet. At the same time, Sherlock’s finger had stopped moving entirely, making John calm down a bit; but only a bit. The growing need for pressure and friction was still there, and it wouldn’t disappear on its own.

The moment Sherlock gasped, John knocked against the window which separated them from the driver.  “Stop here!”

Sherlock gaped, and John couldn’t suppress a grin. “Pay him,” he ordered as cars started honking all around them. Then he opened the door and got out. Sherlock followed within seconds, drawing his coat tightly around himself. “Trafalgar Square,” he said and John laughed at him. “Good deduction.”

“It would have been just five minutes.” He called after John who strode through the masses of tourists towards the National Gallery. Sherlock’s plan therefore had been to bring him THAT close to Mycroft before getting a proper move on; possibly to heighten the tension, but more likely to piss Mycroft off. They entered the large building through the side entrance which led into the Portrait Gallery and John didn’t have to look behind him to know that Sherlock followed. He prayed that no one would look anywhere near his crotch, and he half expected Sherlock to say something indecent before turning  the corner and walking down the passage to the bathrooms. Without so much as a glance back he walked past the urinals and into the stall at the end. One man had been using the bathroom, and Sherlock had the decency to wait until he had walked out before he followed John.

It was a tiny stall to begin with, and John by himself would have had trouble turning around without knocking his elbows against the sides, but with Sherlock it was practically impossible to move at all.

“Not your best idea,” Sherlock pointed out as he locked the door behind his back with difficulty.

“Get to it.” John pressed his chin against Sherlock’s chest. The toilet looked relatively clean, but he wasn’t in the mood to touch it.

“Turn around.”

“Sherlock,” John hissed. “You’re not going to…”

“John, trust me. Turn around, you’ll have more room.” John hated that he was right, and that he had apparently caught himself after losing it for a minute. He had probably deduced a dozen visitors to get back into his corner and regroup.

But instead of protesting, John turned around, making sure to press his hip up and against Sherlock’s crotch. Well, at least he was still hard. John grinned a bit and carefully leaned forward, placing his hands against the wall. “Now do it or I’ll fucking kill …” they both heard the door open and John’s mouth snapped shut. He was sure that whoever had just come in could hear the sound of his zipper being opened very loud and clear. It took him a second to remind himself that this would be a completely acceptable thing to hear in a bathroom. Less acceptable was the grunt that escaped him when Sherlock’s hand wormed its way into the trousers.


	8. December 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time. Did you ever wonder what Sherlock and John do in that month? We (Anarion and Days_of_storm) will tell you in our little daily Advent stories.  
> It started on December 1st, John was making punch and Sherlock was updating his blog (rating G). Let's see where the story takes us (and how fast we can work our way to 'explicit'. *ahem*)  
> UPDATE: Yay, there's sex!

The sound of steps came closer and both men in the stall froze until there was the sound of another zipper opened and with a heartfelt sigh the man outside began to pee. Hopefully he had been distracted by his own full bladder to not notice John's grunt.

John could practically _feel_ Sherlock's wolfish grin as he started stroking him through his underwear, not willing to wait until the man would leave. John bit his lip and pushed his groin forward, searching more friction, more pressure.

Then he remembered that he could easily wipe that grin from Sherlock's face by repaying the favour. Sherlock snapped his mouth shut just in time when John's bum rubbed against his erection. The fingers of his left hand dug into John's hip.

The man outside started humming, clearly feeling better now that his bladder was empty and left the room. John almost started giggling when he realised that he just noticed that the man did not wash his hands despite the fact that Sherlock's hand was wrist-deep in his trousers. But then Sherlock moved his hand and his hips at the same time and the giggle turned into a heartfelt moan.

“Hurry up, if we have to stop one more time I'm going to die.”

Sherlock tried to laugh but the only sound he managed was a grunt as he rubbed against John frantically. He pulled his hand back, but before John could utter a sound of protest, Sherlock pushed it back down, into the pants this time, closing his fingers around John's cock. Then he fumbled with his left hand for a few seconds, pushing clothes out of the way, until there was only flesh on flesh. Both men groaned as the rate of arousal jumped even higher.

Sherlock reveled in the sound of skin gliding against skin and two men's harsh breathing for a few seconds before John suddenly whispered 'Oh God' and spilled over Sherlock's fingers, his whole body jerking. After a few more frantic thrusts Sherlock bit down on John's shoulder to stifle his groan and followed suit.

John started to speak, still breathing hard, but he only managed to say, “Holy...” before the bathroom door opened again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I felt bad for the poor boys and I thought that they would not survive another orgasm delay. ;)
> 
> Apologies to all who follow my 221Bs, yesterday was a bad day and I honestly was in no mood to deal with posting. New 221B tomorrow!


	9. December 9

 

Countless seconds passed in which they both tried to calm down again; but the usual post orgasm haze was severely challenged by the adrenaline set loose by yet another person entering the bathroom. John started to feel his arms shake, but he couldn’t really change his position. He felt Sherlock’s cum slowly get everywhere and he cursed his own idea, which in hindsight seemed like a bad one after all. Maybe getting off in the bathroom in Mycroft’s office building would have been the better choice.

He knew that Sherlock knew that he was uncomfortable, but Sherlock simply stood there, breathing deeply against his back. It seemed forever until the men left the bathroom and before John could utter a word, Sherlock had opened the door and stepped backwards out of the stall, his coat hiding any evidence. John pulled the door closed again and tried to assess the damage they had done. It wasn’t so bad, he noticed as he grabbed toilet paper to wipe himself halfway clean. Despite the fact that Sherlock had come all over him (and he prayed that there were no visible traces on the back of his coat), he had managed to catch most of John’s so that he didn’t have to touch anything else in that stall. Pulling up his trousers, still uncomfortably sticky between his legs, he joined Sherlock at the sinks.

“You owe me!” he said, staring at him through the mirror. Sherlock’s smug expression made him forget their whereabouts for a second and he crowded against him, capturing his lips in a searing kiss which wiped that smugness right out of Sherlock’s face.

“Wash your hands,” Sherlock simply said, his cheeks lightly flushed when John stepped back.

“Something wrong?” John let water run over his hands, yearning for a shower.  He didn’t get an answer, and Sherlock’s cheeks only grew a bit pinker. He dried his hands and made for the door, but before he pulled it open he turned around and leaned up to kiss Sherlock again. This time, Sherlock moaned quietly and grabbed his shoulders, deepening the kiss. He only stopped when John pushed away his coat and felt for the reason of Sherlock’s apparent embarrassment. “Ah,” he grinned, giving a small squeeze that had Sherlock double over. “That’s what you get for teasing me.”

Sherlock tried to glare but failed spectacularly.

“Again, or still?” John asked, now leaning against the door, hoping that whoever tried to use the bathroom would think the whole thing was locked.

Sherlock sniffed and didn’t answer.

“You came. I have proof still against my bum.”

The blush grew ever deeper and John felt rather victorious.

“It must have been the mix of release and excitement,” Sherlock started to explain and John tried to bite back a grin so hard it was almost painful, “so I never quite recovered,” Sherlock finished.

“I could have made you come twice,” John felt the need to point this out, ignoring the fact that in theory, this was all brilliant and better than Christmas, even, but that more than one orgasm on Sherlock’s side in that stall would have probably pissed him off majorly. “There needs to be some more first-hand research done on the subject,” he nodded to himself, watching Sherlock’s expression shifting between embarrassed and intrigued. “At home,” he added and then stepped away from the door, making for the exit.


	10. December 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time. Did you ever wonder what Sherlock and John do in that month? We (Anarion and Days_of_storm) will tell you in our little daily Advent stories.  
> It starts on December 1st, John is making punch and Sherlock is updating his blog (rating G). Let's see where the story takes us (and how fast we can work our way to 'explicit'. *ahem*)

As they were walking back towards the exit of the gallery, John put his hand on Sherlock’s arm. It was a gentle gesture and at the same time perfectly innocent. The man was in enough trouble without John touching him inappropriately.

“Let’s walk the rest of the way. The cool air will help hide our... um, slightly dishevelled appearance and it might help you to calm down.”

Sherlock snorted.

They entered the cafeteria and John looked at the cakes. Was it worth buying some for Mycroft, hoping to annoy him enough to maybe overlook the tiny tales that would give away their last minutes’ activity? He glanced at Sherlock, who smiled but shook his head.

“He would know exactly where we bought it and therefore why we stopped here.”

“You know, sometimes I wish Lestrade was your brother. Everything would be so much more simple. Even the Christmas dinners.”

They both chuckled as they stepped outside into the cold air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is rather short. But I have so much work to do right now, I don't even know where to start.
> 
> Also I thought this is a good point to stop, so days_of_storm can either go visit Mycroft or jump home and get back to the porn. :D


	11. December 11

John couldn’t help but feel smug for the entire five minutes it took them to reach Mycroft’s office. Sherlock had walked very fast, leaving John to fall into a trot behind. Without any further delay, Sherlock jumped up the stairs, walked through the large wooden doors and passed Mycroft’s secretaries without so much as a glance. John preferred to stay outside, being glad that Sherlock had walked so fast; and that he could apologise to the secretaries, who offered him tea in return.

When Sherlock reappeared John could feel the tension. It had taken both brothers approximately two minutes to piss each other off; a new record? Probably not; Mycroft’s name alone tended to spoil Sherlock’s mood.

“Something wrong?” John asked, sipping calmly on his tea.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock simply said, gesturing for him to go. John remained where he was.

“So, what’s the mission?”

Sherlock snorted. “We’re too late,” he said with so much distaste in his voice that John feared that Sherlock had actually been deprived of a great mystery which he would have loved to solve.

“So we’re not needed after all?”

“Not if we don't manage to catch the helicopter that is now on its way to Edinburgh, which I fear is impossible."

John nodded and took another sip. “Too bad we didn’t buy those cakes, though. I’m sure they would have come in handy now as a way of apology.”

“You were the one who got out of…”

“Sherlock!” Mycroft interrupted his bother calmly. “No shouting in my office. And I’m sure that your _partner_ would appreciate if private issues remained private. “ He smiled apologetically at John, who couldn’t help but grin. Privacy was not something which Mycroft actually respected, but John was glad to be spared at least some embarrassment.

“Thank you, Mycroft. I apologise for our delay.”

“Well, it’s really only a trifle, Doctor.”

“By which you mean you’re screwed.” Sherlock scoffed and John raised his eyebrows at his unusually colourful language.

“There will be consequences, yes, but you won’t have to know about them. I gather you have other urgent business to attend to?”

John put down his cup and promptly made for the door. Mycroft had dismissed them, so there was no need for pleasantries, he figured. Sherlock seemed to share his thoughts and soon they found themselves in a cab again. “We should do this more often,” John suggested, grinning at Sherlock’s confused expression. “I don’t mean _that_.”

“But …”

“I mean that we should not always come running. At least not when we have other things to do. It seems as if we’re not always needed.”

“Well, our _delay_ made things quite difficult for Mycroft.” Only when he said it out loud did he seem to realise the satisfaction this idea gave him. He grinned, too. “Yes, John. For once you are right.”

“I’ll ignore that last remark,” John sniffed and turned to look out the window. By the time they reached Baker Street, Sherlock was sitting very close to him; so close in fact that John almost fell out of the cab when he opened the door. But at least that meant that Sherlock was not the first one out of the cab, so he had to pay the driver again.

Well, they were home. Time for round two.


	12. December 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time. Did you ever wonder what Sherlock and John do in December? We (Anarion and Days_of_storm) will tell you in our little daily (and rather smutty) Advent stories.

Sherlock chucked his coat over the nearest chair and dropped down on the sofa.

“God, that was tedious.”

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Your phone. Give it to me.”

Sherlock looked like he might argue for a second then the penny dropped and he handed John his phone. 

“I’m going to put it on silent and in the upstairs bedroom.”

It was a common joke between them that Sherlock could _feel_ it when his mobile rang. While John was busy with both their phones and then lightened a fire, Sherlock watched him move around silently.

The walk in the cold winter air and the meeting with Mycroft had helped him to calm down and the fact that Mycroft was distracted enough to overlook the state both he and John were in cheered him up tremendously.

Still...

He knew that it would have been a bad idea for several reasons, the first being the fact that they would certainly have been discovered and maybe even arrested for indecent behaviour, but he really wished John would have turned around and sucked him off to a second orgasm.

The thought of John's mouth on him negated the previous calm and made his heart rate go up.

When John walked over from the fire and went to his knees between his lover’s legs with a mischievous grin, Sherlock as a result got goosebumps all over his body.

John rested a hand on each of Sherlock’s knees, looked up to him and licked his lips. The desire in his eyes was unmistakable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Back to the porn!


	13. December 13

  
  


“Undress,” John said, watching Sherlock with an expression which forced heat into Sherlock’s cheeks and blood to flow rapidly back to where John’s hands were slowly moving.

“Do it for me?”

“You don’t get to be lazy now,” John answered, his voice dangerously low.

“You’ll have to stop touching me.”

“Because you can’t unbutton your trousers while you’re sitting down? That’s news to me.”

“Because I can’t concentrate.”

John chuckled and dropped his hands, sitting back on his heels. “Go on.”

Sherlock inhaled deeply, and John could swear that he heard his shirt strain. If he popped a button now John would not be able to blow him. The thought alone proved to be almost as bad as the real thing, because suddenly John couldn’t suppress a giggle which became full blown laughter when Sherlock’s expression spelled out complete confusion and arousal at the same time. “What?”

John tried to calm down, but he didn’t quite manage, and just the thought of trying to give Sherlock a blowjob while he was laughing set him off again, and he clutched at Sherlock’s knees, trying to hold himself up. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I am. I am...”

Sherlock just sat there, baffled and for some reason not offended. Eventually he gently pushed John’s hands away and stood up. “It appears that yet another change in plans is in order,” he announced and stepped around John. “Bedroom.”

John scrambled up from the floor and followed him, still laughing.

Thankfully Sherlock made use of the minute it took John to follow him and had gotten rid of his trousers, and, much to John’s misplaced disappointment, also of his shirt. He was just stepping out of his underwear when John reached him. “I’m sorry,” he said again, wiping at his face.

“Bed,” Sherlock simply said, and John tried to undress as fast as he could while ogling Sherlock’s erection.

John wasn’t sure what he had expected; certainly not for Sherlock to push him down to sit on the bed and to kneel down and kiss his cock open mouthed. John had been half hard before his mind had been taken off into the direction of flying buttons, and he was now entirely soft; something which Sherlock seemed to enjoy immensely, making delighted little noises while he pushed his tongue against him, sucking him fully into his mouth, and smiling when he could feel him grow hard. He didn’t let him go until he was fully hard and John was ready to come by the time he let him slip out.

 Then Sherlock felt for something under the bed and pressed a condom into John’s hand. “Now you can apologise,” he said with a smirk and flung himself on the bed, arse up in the air, and John wondered when Sherlock had managed to turn the tables on him without realising it.


	14. December 14

John smiled down on Sherlock’s back stretched out on the bed and decided that it was time that he assumed control again. 

He put the condom on the bedside table, next to the book on the minds of serial killers and dried algae in a petri-dish, and moved onto the bed. He leaned over Sherlock and gently kissed his way from neck down to bum until Sherlock was squirming.

“John. Get to it.”

John laughed and with a practised move rolled Sherlock over onto his back. They looked at each other and John smiled when he saw the confusion in his lover’s eyes.

“Not yet. You wanted my mouth on you before I ruined the mood earlier.”

He licked his lips and Sherlock’s sucked in a harsh breath.

“You’re going to kill me.” He said calmly, as if stating a fact. 

“It will only be a small death.”

John leaned down again and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s. For a few moments the kiss was tender and gentle, but then Sherlock shifted his body, opened his lips and sucked John’s tongue into his mouth. They kissed until John thought he might come just from this and moved away. He brought his face down to Sherlock’s groin and just breathed on the heated skin there.

Sherlock made a sound close to a whimper and John took pity and opened his mouth. Sherlock’s fingers were in his hair immediately and he felt them directing his head down. This time Sherlock actually whimpered.

John had barely time to built up a rhythm when the fingers in his hair started tugging and Sherlock almost sobbed, “Stop, John, just... God, stop.”

 

John stopped.

Sherlock glared at him. “Now, will you fuck me already?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poor boys. The tension is killing me!! :D


	15. December 15

For a few heartbeats, John considered his options. Sherlock would probably try to get him to do it no matter what he did. Hell, he had curled up into a ball once to keep John away from his cock and make him fuck him; not that it had worked since Sherlock was, after all, very ticklish. But he didn’t want to play that particular card now; who knew what else the day would bring.

“Lube?” He asked, chuckling at the annoyance which crossed Sherlock’s face; but he quickly understood that some cooperation was required if he was to get what he wanted. So he turned around again and crawled up to the night stand, pulled open the drawer and looked crestfallen.

“What?” John asked, already guessing Sherlock’s problem.

“I’m going to die!” Sherlock complained dramatically and grabbed his own cock for good measure.

John burst out laughing again. He knew Sherlock wouldn’t move off that bed before he had come, so he took pity on him and went to look for the lube, which he guessed would have to be somewhere in the sitting room.

He couldn’t find it. He looked everywhere, and he was sure that Sherlock was having a party all on his own by now, and still, it wasn’t in any of the usual places. He looked under the couch, under the cushions on their chairs, the book shelf, behind the telly, on the desk and inside the drawers. He was about to just go back when he remembered that he had seen it earlier. With a grin, he walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

There it sat, next to the jam, and John was truly thankful that Mrs Hudson was away and had had no chance to inspect the inside of their fridge; not that he wasn’t sure that she knew exactly what was going on in 221B, but he’d rather not have her confront them about it.

Holding the lube out like a prize, he walked back into the bedroom where Sherlock sat on his hands, legs spread, staring almost accusingly at his erection. His face lit up when he saw what John held and immediately flopped down again on his stomach, grunting when he found his erection trapped between his body and the bed.

John gave himself a few firm strokes to get himself back into working order and picked up the condom. Then he knelt on the bed, spreading Sherlock’s legs wide, pushed Sherlock’s cheeks apart and dribbled lube on the heated skin between.

John was sure he had never heard Sherlock use as many swearwords in a single sentence in his life. He jumped, clawed at the next pillow and buried his face in it. John grinned. “Not funny!” Sherlock complained from somewhere inside the pillow.

John managed to pacify him when he started rubbing his thumb against the lube covered skin. The initial cold now created heat and he could feel that it made Sherlock a tad more sensitive than usual.

Pressing one finger in, Sherlock finally relaxed, his legs opening wider. Two fingers and he pushed himself up on hands and knees, twisting so he could look at John. More lube, this time warmed up before applied and Sherlock pushed back on three fingers with a sound that made John very hard indeed.

“Do it,” Sherlock grunted, and then he inhaled deeply and added a quiet, “please?”

And John pretended that their little interlude hadn’t happened and that this would have been the natural consequence of their earlier little moment on the sofa; and so he pushed in, slowly, gently pressing kisses against Sherlock’s back, and finally he pulled him up so that they both knelt upright, Sherlock’s hands on his arse, pulling him closer while his own hands roamed across Sherlock’s chest and stomach. He didn’t touch him; not yet. Sherlock would make certain that he knew when to take care of his erection. For now it was just that. Back to chest, hip to arse, thighs pressed together and John’s teeth worrying the skin of Sherlock’s shoulder.

They remained like this for a while, but eventually Sherlock made it clear that he demanded his second orgasm. John was sure that he would test Sherlock’s ability to stay hard after orgasm some other time, but not now. Now he started to move faster, pulling out further to drive in back harder. Sherlock shuddered and John felt him gently pull his hand from his stomach down to his cock; and he was surprised by how calm Sherlock still seemed to be. Not as demanding as he usually was; well, his arse was demanding all on its own; but the gesture was gentle and almost shy and John had to close his eyes and think of cricket in order to not come from the sudden emotional overstimulation.

Closing his fist around Sherlock, he started to pump, feeling him squirm and squeeze around him. “Jesus, Sherlock!”

He sped up a bit, trying to keep his rhythm and failing when Sherlock suddenly fell forward, back on his hands and started pushing back in earnest now. It took them only seconds to come; Sherlock a moment before John.

They collapsed on the bed, still spooning; John still inside Sherlock and his hand still on Sherlock’s cock which he felt grow soft after a few moments. Somehow he was relived about it, and he was fairly sure that Sherlock was, too. No matter how amazing it seemed, he could not imagine the frustration that might come with it. He kissed Sherlock’s back again and slowly pulled out, fumbling for tissues and getting rid of the condom only to come back and snuggle up against Sherlock’s back again.

“There is still some punch left,” John murmured with a smile.  

 


	16. December 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time. Did you ever wonder how Sherlock and John spend Advent? We (Anarion and Days_of_storm) will tell you in our little daily (and rather smutty) Advent stories.

The next two weeks had been filled with three cases and there had been barely time to sleep and eat in-between. On the third Sunday in Advent two had been solved and the third was about to be wrapped up, which is why Sherlock, John, Lestrade and Molly all were at the morgue on a day you'd rather spend with friends, biscuits and candlelight. Well, except when you're Sherlock.

While Lestrade and Sherlock were going over some details, John chatted with Molly.

A few minutes later Lestrade went to fill out the paperwork and Sherlock joined John and Molly. They were discussing Christmas it seemed.

“Sherlock, John and I were just discussing Christmas.”

“Yes, obviously.”

“Sherlock.” John was the only one who managed to say his name and made him feel the kick against his shin at the same time without actually kicking him.

“So, um... do you have... plans?”

Sherlock did. 

“Nothing special,” he said and grinned that special smile at Molly that for some reason made everyone uncomfortable except John, and Molly promptly made a choked off sound and dropped her clipboard.

When they were walking home half an hour later John asked, “What was that about?”

“Why? Do you have plans?”

“No. I thought we'd spend a quiet evening together.”

Sherlock was absolutely down with that plan. Well, except for the quiet part.

“John, I have an experiment I need your help with.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“I'm certain you will enjoy it in the end.”

“I rarely enjoy your experiments.”

“It's of a sexual nature.”

“Oh. In this case I'm all ears.”

“We are going to engage in sexual activities every day until Christmas...”

“I'm enjoying it already.”

“... without actually climaxing.”

“Or not.”

“The climax we will experience on Christmas should make up for any discomfort felt on the days leading up to it. What do you say?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, cyclotomic_72, for dropping the words 'Christmas climax' into my lap! :D


	17. December 17

John looked at Sherlock; well, he looked in his direction, but the air between them was full of images of what they would do over the next few days. They all seemed glorious, except for that part where he wouldn’t be able to walk or concentrate on anything anymore.

“I’m not sure,” John admitted, seeing disappointment cloud Sherlock’s happy expression. He sighed and looked down on himself, finding that certain body parts disagreed with his hesitation. Sherlock’s eyes followed his and his face lit up.

“It’s only seven days, John.”

“But Christmas is on the 25th,” John argued. “That’s eight days.”

“The Queen celebrates Christmas on Christmas Eve. I don’t see why we shouldn’t either?”

John scrunched up his face, considering his options. Then he had an idea. “So you get what you wish for on the 24th and I get my wish on the 25th?”

“I don’t see why not,” Sherlock said with a movement of his hand which was supposed to express his nonchalance, but then he stopped it in mid air. “What is your wish?”

John simply grinned at him. “Seven days versus one. I’m sure you can see how you clearly get the bigger end of that stick.”

Sherlock frowned at John as if trying to figure out whether there was any innuendo in this exclamation, but eventually he agreed and John knew that the first thing he’d do when they got home was to make some ice, just in case.

The cab ride home was enough to make them both sweat; each of them thinking of ways to get the other to beg for release. The first thing John did was not to make ice, but to take a long cold shower. Not that it helped any, because Sherlock was standing naked in the middle of the sitting room when he came out.

He waited until Sherlock had taken a shower as well and he didn’t have to wait long. He was very quick and very wet when he came out again, asking John to light a fire. Naked.

John protested and told him that the experiment was about having sex without climaxing and not about singeing his pubic hair and Sherlock conceded. He waited until the fire was burning before he knelt behind John and forced him around, opening his dressing gown, finding him pant-less and excited. He took hold of him and slowly sucked him into his mouth.

John felt the strongest urge to grab Sherlock’s hair, hold him in place and just keep going until he could breathe again; but Sherlock knew him very well and simply pulled away when John got close.

“Stage one,” he announced with a smug expression.

“What’s stage one?” John asked, fearing for his sanity.  

“A straight forward and familiar sexual act. No teasing; simple pleasure with no immediately repeated sexual contact.”

“You have an actual list somewhere, don’t you?” John asked incredulously. Well, if he was left feeling like this; horny, dissatisfied and ready to hump a cushion, he wouldn’t be the only one.

“Stand up,” he ordered, and Sherlock followed his instruction with a smile.

Straight forward pleasuring; John knew how to do that. With a smile he took hold of Sherlock’s arse and started sucking him off. Sherlock pretended for a very long time that he wasn’t quite as affected as John had been, but John knew how to make his knees shake and his hands clutch at his hair and it didn’t take long until he had him right where he wanted him. Sherlock had pulled back on him, but John wouldn’t. If this was a test, he would very well test Sherlock, too.

He could feel the change in his movement, the stiffening of his body, getting ready to shoot while standing up. “Stop!” Sherlock grunted, his fingernails leaving moon shaped indentations in John’s shoulders.

John didn’t stop. He swirled his tongue around the head and then sucked him in as far as he could go. Sherlock doubled over and started panting. He could taste his come on his tongue, John realized just as Sherlock let himself fall backwards. He landed on his arse on the carpet and John felt a bit sorry for him; but then again he could have pulled away sooner, so it was all Sherlock’s fault.

Sherlock had come incredibly close, and as he sat there his body twitched and shook and John was sure that he’d come anyway, but then Sherlock let himself fall back, his hands in fists by his sides and he forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply, pulling himself back from the edge he had almost fallen over.

John had to admit that he was impressed; and leaking precome. In the moment he was certain that he would not live to see Christmas Eve.  


	18. December 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time. Did you ever wonder how Sherlock and John spend Advent? We (Anarion and Days_of_storm) will tell you in our little daily (and rather smutty) Advent stories.

John was standing in the shower, the hot water drumming on his bowed head, and he was looking down on his cock, half-hard since he woke and clearly not satisfied with a neglecting treatment like that.

Suddenly Sherlock poked his head around the door frame and shouted, “I hope you're not tossing off in there.”

“I was waiting for you to do that!”

“Oh!” Without much ado Sherlock dropped his dressing gown and stepped into the shower. John turned towards him, it felt like his cock was pulling his whole body in Sherlock's direction.

“It's only day two and coming is all I can think about. This is torture.”

Sherlock merely hummed and looked at him. His eyes fell to John's groin and his cock twitched in response.

“God, please touch me already.”

Sherlock stepped closer until John could feel his body's heat, bent his knees a little, so that their cocks were on the same level and wrapped his right hand around them both. John almost went to his knees as pleasure surged through him.

“Oh God, yes.”

He started moving his hips and they quickly found a rhythm that was intoxicating enough to endanger the whole project. John groaned.

Sherlock's cock sliding against his own, Sherlock's fingers creating just the right amount of pressure, Sherlock's left hand squeezing his bum and Sherlock's desperate panting in his ear – John was sure he was in hell. All he wanted was to come all over Sherlock's hand, he could already feel the orgasm building and he was close, so close...

“Stop! Stop! Jesus fuck.” 

He almost slipped in his attempt to get away from the friction and the heat of Sherlock's hand but Sherlock caught him, eyes still dazed and hands shaking.

With a heartfelt sigh he leaned his forehead against John's.

“Whose idea was that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Lord! ;D


	19. December 19

“I hate you,” John shouted over the sound of Sherlock’s frantic scraping on the G and D strings of his violin. He wasn’t even trying to play music; all he did was try to vent his frustration by playing both strings vigorously at the same time with closed eyes.

Sherlock was hard in his trousers and John knew that the vibrations caused by his playing were forcing him to stay that way.

John had been doing really well since he had woken up with Sherlock’s mouth on his cock and a finger up his arse which had been followed by a string of curse words and an actual ice pack on said cock. The experiment was starting to lose its scientific value as both of them had started to take their minds off anything of a sexual nature by reading books on progressive eye disease (John) and a rule book of football (Sherlock), and John was sure that it would only actually make sense if they continued their everyday life as they always had. He had mentioned that to Sherlock who had then absentmindedly readjusted himself in his trousers and with a sneer picked up his violin as to prove that he was doing what he always did. Only that playing the violin had never made him hard before.

He stopped after John’s exclamation. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Not true.”

Sherlock carefully replaced the violin in its case and stood up, hands on his hips, the bulge very clearly visible from John’s perspective. “Come here,” John said, finding that it was only fair that Sherlock would be on the receiving end of some teasing after this morning’s little stunt. “You know that you could have spoiled it all?”

“Spoiled what?” Sherlock frowned, but stepped closer, and closer still when John reached out for him.

“I could have come in my sleep.”

Sherlock grinned. “I took care that you wouldn’t.”

“Handcuffs,” John murmured and hooked his index fingers under Sherlock’s waistband.

“Excuse me?”

“On the 25th. Get some handcuffs for Tuesday.” He unzipped him and pushed his trousers and underwear out of the way.

“Why?” Sherlock’s question turned into a grunt when John pressed his thumb against his erection.

John looked at him as if he was considering leaving the room right this moment until Sherlock had found his brain again. “Really?”

Sherlock blushed and raised his chin to avoid having to look at John. He _did_ look down again when John’s lips wrapped around him and his tongue did wicked little things to him that made Sherlock’s toes curl.

It took Sherlock a considerably shorter time to beg for John to stop than it had the days before; and Sherlock actually straight out left the flat after he had forced himself back into his trousers, leaving John to once again consider his choices. What would Sherlock do if he made him come. He was sure that even now Sherlock wouldn’t have stopped him had he not listened to him and stopped by his own choice. The experiment would be cancelled, but would Sherlock be upset? Any empirical data was null and void anyway; so why were they torturing each other – and themselves?

His cock answered for him when it twitched happily against the constraints of his jeans. They both loved it – they loved to test how far they could go; how much they could endure and how much they could tease the other without losing control themselves. John sighed and picked up the eye disease book again, daring to hope that Sherlock would stay away for long enough to let them both calm down.

 


	20. December 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time. Did you ever wonder what Sherlock and John do in December? We (Anarion and Days_of_storm) will tell you in our little daily (and rather smutty) Advent stories.

Thursday afternoon arrived and Sherlock was clearly short of shooting the wall again, this time for completely different reasons though. (And not necessarily with a gun, if you know what I mean.)

“Out.”

“What?”

“We are going out. Otherwise I’m going to jump you right now, wrestle you to the ground and hump whatever body part gets between my legs first.”

Sherlock’s eyes glazed over at John’s words and it took him three attempts to put on his coat.

***

Ten minutes later the two men were walking through Regent’s Park with brisk steps. The light was already fading and the air was cool.

Suddenly Sherlock stopped.

“It’s not working.”

“No. I still want to jump you, wrestle you to the ground and hump whatever body part gets between my legs first.”

“John. Not helping.”

“Sorry.”

“Come here.”

Sherlock pulled John into a small group of trees, opened his coat and wrapped it around them both. At the first almost contact of their bodies both men groaned.

“You need to say stop in time. I will be to preoccupied not coming myself, I can’t...”

“Yes, yes, whatever you want. Just... come closer. Please.”

Sherlock stepped right between John’s legs and leaned down to kiss him. At the same time both men began to move their hips. It was perfect. John grabbed Sherlock’s bum and dug his fingers into the flesh. Sherlock flinched in surprise and almost bit off a piece of John’s lower lip.

“Oh God, oh God, _oh God_.”

“Fuck!”

Sherlock suddenly jerked away and the loss of contact was so painful in his cock and the need to follow Sherlock’s body to finish what they started days ago so strong that John slammed his head against the tree behind him to distract himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I am really sorry for the boys. That was a cruel idea. 
> 
> I have a Hobbit question, maybe one of you can help? I really love those IMAX posters, the painted ones. Can you buy them somewhere? Or were they just given out that one evening? Maybe I can print them myself? Does anyone know where I could do that?


	21. December 21

 

His head hurt a bit and he had a nice bump on the back of his head, but the ice had been needed in other places.

They had slept in separate beds for the first time in ages and John started to feel that their experiment was asking for too many sacrifices to be worth it. With a yawn he made his way downstairs where Sherlock was typing furiously away on his computer.

“Morning,” he murmured and he could see Sherlock flinch. He must have heard that he had come downstairs; the third and sixth step always creaked and John hadn’t tried to be quiet. “What?”

Sherlock flinched again, followed by a small sigh and it hit John. Sherlock’s body was now showing reactions to the mere sound of his voice. He grinned.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked, making his voice raspy. Sherlock shook his head without looking around. On his way into the kitchen John could see that he was biting his lip, hard.

“If I touched you now you would just come, wouldn’t you?” he asked when he returned from the kitchen, placing a cup of tea in front of Sherlock who glared at him.

Since Sherlock didn’t seem to want to or wasn’t able to talk, John made use of this rare opportunity. “You do remember that the original experiment was about us participating in sexual activities without coming. Right now, it seems as if you’ve regressed to just not coming.”

“As if you feel any different,” Sherlock grumbled and turned away. John leaned over to kiss the nape of his neck. “Bastard,” Sherlock added with a sniff.

“I guess you’re about to redefine ‘sexual activity’ to keep the experiment valid?”

Sherlock turned back with laughter in his eyes. “Currently you being in the same room as me is a sexual activity,” he said, sounding exasperated and happy at the same time. Then he frowned and placed his hand on John’s which rested on the table. “Actually, it doesn’t matter where you are. You’re already here,” he tipped his index finger against his temple, “and here,” he placed his hand over his chest and sighed again, “and the memory of you is definitely here.” For the last one he simply pointed, not daring to lay a hand on himself.

John was a bit busy trying to bite back tears, so he couldn’t immediately answer. It seemed as if Sherlock, in his silly idea of a sexual experiment had reached an unexpected conclusion; but apparently that didn’t mean that this would end here. “Tell me honestly, do you think we can keep this up for another four days?”

Sherlock snorted. “Can is not the right word,” he said, squeezing John’s hand. “How is your head?”

“Alright, I guess.”

“I’m sorry you got hurt.”

This time John snorted, even though he was again surprised by Sherlock’s sudden emotional insight. “I’m honestly happy that something is distracting me.”

“Does it?”

John smiled. “I’m not going to hit you, if you think that’s a solution. And you are certainly not going to walk into immobile objects and furniture now, understood?”

Sherlock nodded, but then dipped his fingers into the tea. It wasn’t extremely hot anymore, but hot enough to make him grunt in pain and pull out his fingers again quickly. John simply stared for a moment. “You’re such an idiot.”

He gently grabbed Sherlock’s wrist and started blowing cold air over the slightly pink skin.

“You didn’t say burning was forbidden,” Sherlock argued, curling his fingers as if to test whether his skin would fall off or he would miraculously be distracted from being turned on. Neither of these things happened. 

“Good thing I made ice cubes,” John murmured and carefully placed Sherlock’s hand back on the table. He did smack his head lightly, though, before he disappeared in the kitchen to get the ice.

When he returned, he could see Sherlock thinking hard. “Sherlock, you are not dipping your cock into hot tea. I will leave you with immediate effect if you try. Oh, and no other pain or mutilation of any sort, understood?”

Sherlock gave John the I’m-not-stupid-stare, but John simply shrugged and walked around his chair, hugging him from behind with the back of the chair keeping their bodies safely apart. “That was a lovely thing you said earlier. And yes, you’re right. At this point just thinking about you makes it hard … difficult’, Sherlock snorted again, raising his unhurt hand to run his fingers through John’s hair and to pull him down a bit, ‘to keep my hands off you and myself.”

“Kiss?”

“No tongue.”

“Fine. I hate this. What was I thinking?”

“A brilliant experiment; that’s what you were thinking. You and bloody data.”


	22. December 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time. Did you ever wonder what Sherlock and John do in December? We (Anarion and Days_of_storm) will tell you in our little daily (and rather smutty) Advent stories.  
>  **Quickly approaching the Christmas climax. Literally.**

“I’ve been thinking about Christmas.”

Oh dear Lord. John was pretty sure that he was going to need frozen peas to survive that conversation (the ice was already gone).

“Stop right there. Let me get the frozen peas.”

He wrapped the frozen peas into a towel, walked back into the living room, dropped down into his arm chair and placed the cooling aid over his groin. Sherlock made a chocked off sound and stared at the now covered area of John’s body.

“Sherlock?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. I’ve been thinking about Christmas.”

Great. He was repeating himself. Clear sign for no blood circulation in the brain. Obviously because all the blood had decided to take permanent residence down south. He sighed.

John was looking at him expectantly. And a little worried. 

“I decided that I’d like you to fuck me. I want to feel you come inside me.”

John closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. No one mentioned the fact that he might have been secretly humping the frozen peas for a few seconds. He opened his eyes again.

“Bedroom!”

He got up, took Sherlock’s hand and pulled him into the bedroom. He did however not let go of the frozen peas.

“Strip.”

“John... I don’t think this is wise.”

“No probably not wise given out current state. But necessary. I won’t have the patience to prepare you sufficiently on Christmas. So you’ll have to do it yourself. Starting today.”

“This is the sexual act for today? What about you?”

“Oh, I’ll watch and wank.”

He sat down on the only chair in the room but left the peas in place until Sherlock had searched the bedside table for lube, stripped and positioned himself on the bed.

He was not so secretly humping the half-melted bag of peas as Sherlock pushed a first finger in, dropped the peas and shoved his hand in his pants when Sherlock pushed in number two and was incredibly relieved when Sherlock had to stop with finger number three because he couldn’t take the stimulation any more.

Sherlock had dropped flat on his back, limbs sprawled out, and he was gulping down huge amounts of air with every breath, it almost sounded like he was sobbing.

John reapplied the bag of peas to his groin despite the fact that the peas were more or less complete defrosted and rather mushy by now.

“You all right?”

“No.”

“Do you want the peas?”

“Yes, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I know you can feel second-hand embarrassment. Can you feel second-hand sexual frustration? Because I'm pretty sure you can. *bites into a pillow*  
> Thank God it's only two more days. And then: ORGASMS! *yay*
> 
> The frozen peas are a humble nod towards the lovely ! :D


	23. December 23

John remembered many sleepless nights before Christmas. The excitement and the magic of it all had kept him up several nights before Christmas when he had been a child.

Now he lay awake at four o’clock in the morning on the 23rd, exhausted by his arousal, sore from holding back and ready to scream with the tension of it all.

He couldn’t lie still anymore, so he got up, put on a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, jumper and hoodie and dug out his long abandoned trainers from inside his wardrobe. Running would help, he was sure. If he managed to exhaust himself physically, he might even be able to sleep for a few hours before he’d have to start thinking about the Christmas tree, which had been standing in a corner, undecorated, since all of this had started.

As he quietly walked down the stairs he imagined Sherlock stretching up to place the star on the tip of the tree, his trousers tight against his arse and his shirt riding up a bit and …

“Where are you going?” Sherlock stood in the middle of the living room, a bag of frozen blueberries in his hand. John noted that he had wanted to make them blueberry pancakes for breakfast on the 24th, but they were apparently appreciated elsewhere right now. Tomorrow; It’d all be over tomorrow. They could manage. Somehow. “I’m going for a run.”

“Oh,” Sherlock simply said, looking a bit lost.

“Problem?”

“It’s not normal for you to be up at this time, never mind going out for a run.”

John was tired of the word _up_ , but he couldn’t suppress an automatic half-smile. “Wanna join me? You look like you desperately need a distraction as well.”

“And you think running will help?”

“It might?”

“No, thank you.”

“Scared of jingling bells?” John grinned and put up his hood.

“Low, John. Very low.”

“I’m out. You can think of our ‘activity’ for later. And do make sure that you’ll be ready for me tomorrow.” He knew he was playing unfair now; but it had been Sherlock’s idea in the first place, so he felt that it was only fair to make Sherlock suffer a bit more.

The run turned out to be an extremely good idea. The night air was icy cold and distracted John enough to forget about sex for a while and just concentrate in his breathing, his steps on the empty pavement and the almost silent city at this time of night. He loved it; but he did now wish that Sherlock had come along. He was sure that he’d enjoy it; but Sherlock only ever ran when it was after someone or away from somewhere.

He remembered the cold winter nights in Afghanistan when they had run to keep warm, chatting a bit in the beginning but soon falling into step with each other and simply breathing. He did miss those nights when the stars were bright enough to see the ground and for once everything was peaceful.

Only when he returned home, sweat having soaked through his clothes and his cheeks burning, he remembered that there had been a time when he hadn’t been able to run; a time when even walking for a while became torture. Sherlock had single-handedly given him back his freedom to go anywhere; and he had done the best he could have done with that freedom; he had stayed.

Sherlock sat crouched over the kitchen table, the pack of berries placed on his groin, sleeping. John smiled and watched him for a moment, being thankful for the crazy bastard who had turned his world upside down.

The shower was lovely, and with a happy and extremely relieved sigh he noticed that he wasn’t anywhere near hard right now.

When he came back out of the shower, Sherlock hadn’t moved, so he gently woke him up and led him into the bedroom, snuggling up with him like he had wanted to so badly during the last few nights when they hadn’t dared to share the same space while asleep.

They slept through the morning and woke up when Mrs Hudson called for them. Sherlock stretched and smiled. “Thank you,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. John groaned when it immediately sent blood down south.

“Mrs Hudson is about to come in.”

“She wouldn’t dare, would she?” John slid his hand from Sherlock’s chest down over his stomach, smiling when he inhaled sharply. It took only seconds until he could feel him hard against his finger tips. A few strokes through the fabric of his pants and John pulled his hand back. “Your turn.”

Sherlock chuckled and pulled him in for a kiss. “But today is the last day,” he argued, clearly wanting John to allow him to play with him until he’d be a weeping mess praying for the hours to pass until he could come. John grunted when Sherlock started stroking him. There were no pants to keep the illusion of safety between his hardness and Sherlock’s hand.

“Wohoo, boys? Are you decent?” Mrs Hudson knocked and then opened the door slightly, peeking in. Neither of them moved away, but Sherlock thankfully removed his hand. “Oh, you’re having a lie in? Lovely. Would you come down and help me with a few things? And you haven’t put up your tree yet. Is everything alright? You haven’t caught the bug that’s been everywhere, have you?”

“I assure you, Mrs Hudson, that we are perfectly alright. A bit tired, yes, but well, thank you. The tree will be put up and we will be downstairs presently to help you.”

“Are you sure that you are alright, Sherlock?”

John chuckled and moved as far away from Sherlock as he could without revealing his situation to her. “He’s trying to be nice, since it’s Christmas and all,” he said with a grin and Sherlock promptly tugged at the duvet. John was quick enough to hold on to a bit to stay covered, but Mrs Hudson understood that if she stayed longer, she might see more of her boys than she was probably ready to, so she gave a tiny wave and left.

“Fucking hell, Sherlock,” John complained.

“One day, John. One day,” Sherlock reminded him with a grin.


	24. December 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time. Did you ever wonder what Sherlock and John do in December? We (Anarion and Days_of_storm) will tell you in our little daily (and rather smutty) Advent stories.  
>  **Quickly approaching the Christmas climax. Literally.**

John woke up feeling strangely restricted in his movements. He opened his eyes and realised that Sherlock had joined him in bed some time during the night and had wrapped both his arms around John. His head was resting against John's stomach.

John gently combed his fingers through Sherlock's curls and enjoyed the peaceful moment. Then Sherlock moved and John was suddenly very aware of his lover's warm body pressing against his cock that was growing hard quite rapidly. He sighed. Peaceful moment gone.

He was still contemplating how to wake Sherlock but realised that he already was awake when he started to nibble on the skin of John's stomach. He tugged at Sherlock's hair and mumbled, “Come here.”

Sherlock moved, purposely brushing his body against John's, until they were nose to nose and then brushed his lips against John's. John responded by rolling his hips and pressing their erections together.

“We're not waiting any longer. I'm refusing to sit through Mrs Hudson's Christmas Lunch with a hard-on.”

“Mmh. I agree. Which is why I prepared myself before I came to bed.”

He pulled the lube from somewhere, squeezed some on his palm and grabbed John's cock.

“Oh God.”

John held Sherlock tight and rolled them until Sherlock was on his back and John on top of him. He was so turned on that he couldn't decide what to do for a moment. Sherlock arched his back, rubbing their erections together and dug his fingers in John's bum. John realised that he had to act now otherwise this whole experiment would end in a minute after some frantic rubbing against each other. 

He lifted his body, separating their cocks just in time, and pushed his tongue into Sherlock's mouth at the same time he pushed a finger in. He trusted Sherlock when he said that he had prepared himself but he still liked to make sure that he was ready.

Seconds later Sherlock was sucking on his tongue and pretty much fucking himself on John's fingers while making desperate sounds and John thought that he could come just from that.

He pulled his fingers out, kissed Sherlock again and positioned himself. He almost came the moment he pushed the head passed the tight ring of muscles and had to pause to calm himself. Something that was incredibly difficult, since Sherlock had his legs wrapped around John and was writhing beneath him, trying to get him to move.

They were both panting and trembling when he had pushed his cock all the way in.

“This is not going to take long.”

“I hope so. Now move.”

John did. He pulled almost all the way out and pushed in again, his breath stuck somewhere between his lungs and his mouth. He didn't even have time to build up a proper rhythm because he already felt the orgasm building low in his groin. Sherlock was moaning constantly, his cock hot against John's stomach.

“Tell me when..."

"Now... I'm... _Right now_!"

He felt Sherlock shake and tighten around him and then he arched his back and screamed, spilling between them. John couldn't hold out a second longer. He came so fast and hard that he feared to pass out for a moment.

***

“Oh my God. That was spectacular.”

“Mmh. Want to do it again? It's another seven days until New Year's Eve. Six, since you get your wish tomorrow.”

“That would certainly end this year with a bang. Although I think tomorrow I just want to come as often as possible.”

Sherlock chuckled. Then he suddenly turned serious.

“Or we could try to make each other come as often as possible every day until New Year's Eve.”

“You are a menace. “ It sounded like 'I love you'. “Go back to sleep.”

He spooned Sherlock and pressed a kiss to his neck before falling into a dreamless and very content slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my last contribution for this year's calendar. Be sure to read the last chapter by Days_of_storm tomorrow though! :)
> 
> Happy Holidays to you, dear readers!


	25. December 25 - The Final Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although the calendar was technically done yesterday, John still needed to be rewarded for going along with Sherlock's crazy 'experiment'. Thus Christmas Day concludes the calendar.

Christmas Eve had been full of food, drinks, laughter and quite a few kisses under the mistletoes which Sherlock had hung up over every door - after they had woken up, had sex again followed by a joined shower which ended with blowjobs and weak knees.

Mrs Hudson had been amused by Sherlock’s surprising floral decoration of the flat and on the receiving end of numerous kisses on her cheek.  Her amused comment that if Lestrade happened to show up, she wouldn’t mind standing in door at the time led to both John and Sherlock inhaling sharply and staring at her, but she had simply shrugged and smiled and asked for more punch.

Lestrade hadn’t come by, and neither had Mycroft, for which John was rather grateful. Sherlock had never been as relaxed and happy for Christmas. He even hummed a random Christmas song when he had finished his food. John felt a tiny bit proud, but he knew that part of it all was that Sherlock was glad that their experiment was over and that he had come three times already that morning. Apparently it helped to make him hungry and content.

When they went to bed that night, they were both happy and exhausted and barely managed lazy hand jobs before they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

When John woke up on the 25th, he found a tiny box sitting on the bed where Sherlock had been sleeping. He yawned and sat up, wondering where Sherlock had run off to. He poked the box and then picked it up and shook it. He grinned. It was extremely unusual for Sherlock to be _that_ romantic. There could only be one thing in the box and suddenly he was very awake and very eager to find Sherlock.

Sherlock sat cross legged on the couch, John’s gift to him – a flower pot full of already planted seed so that Sherlock could try to figure out which plants they were as they’d grow – in front of him on the coffee table and a slightly bigger box that the one on their bed next to John.

“Morning,” John grinned and scratched his neck, purposefully revealing some skin on his stomach.

“Morning, John,” Sherlock looked a tiny bit uncomfortable.

“You like your gift?”

“You were still asleep and …”

“’S fine. Merry Christmas, Sherlock,” John chuckled and climbed on the couch and on Sherlock’s lap. “Now it’s time for mine.”

He undressed Sherlock as well as he could while sitting on him and then pushed him back so that he could kiss his way down his chest.

“I’m so fucking glad that our experiment is over,” he murmured before he bit down on a nipple, making Sherlock grunt. “But we need to take this back to bed.”

Sherlock shifted a bit and John grinned when he felt him hard against his thigh. “Come on. And bring the handcuffs.”

Sherlock sighed and grabbed the larger of the two boxes and followed him into the bedroom.

To make sure that Sherlock wouldn’t hurt himself, John wrapped a sock around Sherlock’s wrists before he closed the cuffs, linking his wrists together. For a moment he contemplated his options, but he wanted to leave Sherlock some freedom to move. The fact that he wouldn’t be able to use his hands as he normally did would already drive him crazy.

“You okay?”

Sherlock nodded wordlessly.

“You tell me when to stop.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” John grinned and leaned over to kiss him and then he repeated the trail he had started going down on the couch until he reached Sherlock’s navel. He spent quite some time teasing the sensitive skin there, occasionally pushing his chin or cheek against Sherlock’s erection without paying proper attention to it.

“John, stop that. I mean, not all of it. Just … move on?”

John mouthed his way down his hip. Sherlock made an exasperated noise which made John giggle. He looked up and found that Sherlock’s hands were currently buried in his hair, tugging at it in frustration.

When he suddenly grabbed Sherlock’s cock, his hands came up, but because he had wanted to grab the headboard with one and John’s wrist with the other, his bound hands ended up over his face and the stared accusingly at them. In that moment of realization, Sherlock gave himself over to the desperate need to be able move his hands, getting very frustrated very quickly, tugging and writhing in an attempt to free himself while John gently stroked him, making him gasp and curse. He was glad now that he had wrapped Sherlock’s wrists, because had he neglected to do it, he would be bleeding by now. “Calm down, Sherlock!” he said warningly.

Sherlock arched up, desperate to get John to grab him harder, to cause more friction. As an answer, John lessened his grip and Sherlock’s hands flew down, coordinated for once, to grab his own cock.

John stopped everything and watched him for a moment before he forced his hands away. “You don’t get to touch yourself again”, he said calmly, watching Sherlock shake.

He waited for a while until Sherlock had calmed down and then leaned over to suck him into his mouth. Sherlock cried out and John felt his hands in his hair, pushing and pulling but not controlling.

He kept it up until he could feel Sherlock’s orgasm approach. Knowing that Sherlock would probably hate him for a while, he stopped moving, but kept him firmly in his mouth while he pressed Sherlock’s hips down against the bed. Sherlock’s legs were pushing and kicking against the bed and eventually got tangled in the sheets. John remained still.

“John. John! John do something!” Sherlock tried to arch up again, but John had guessed that he’d try and held him down firmly.

“John, I will break something if you don’t…”

John had to laugh and pulled out, pressing his face against Sherlock’s stomach. He watched Sherlock’s cock twitch and ran his index finger along his length, making Sherlock grunt.

“John, it’s not funny.”

John used his fingernail this time and Sherlock’s whole body jerked. Just when he inhaled deeply to complain again, John started stroking him in earnest, rendering Sherlock speechless up to the point where he made the mistake to announce that he was about to come. John pulled his hand away and watched in fascination as Sherlock did come, untouched and writhing, yearning for pressure to anchor him. Just when Sherlock started to calm down again, the muscles in his legs and stomach relaxing, he leaned over and sucked him back into his mouth; and he kept sucking.

Sherlock let out a squeal, and then he started begging. He begged for him to stop and to keep going. John knew that it was a dangerous mix of pain and pleasure he was causing and that Sherlock would feel him for a couple of days if he wasn’t careful, so he stopped his sucking and carefully wrapped his fingers around his length and started licking across the head lightly. Sherlock jerked again, his hands now holding on to the top of the headboard and John wondered for how long Sherlock would let him keep going.

It didn’t take long until Sherlock started turning his hips, trying to get away from John’s hands and mouth. He gave him some space, but even when he didn’t touch him at all, Sherlock remained hard.

“Still okay?” he asked, looking at Sherlock’s flushed face. “Hate me yet?”

Sherlock snorted and inhaled deeply. “Go on.”

“You sure?”

“It’s your experiment. You kept my rules to I keep yours.”

John smiled and leaned over to kiss him. Just when Sherlock relaxed and kissed him back, a content sigh escaping him, John grabbed him again and stoked him until Sherlock pushed his face away from John’s and started moaning loudly, growing louder still when John started rubbing his thumb over his head and with a noise that sounded more of pain than pleasure, Sherlock came again; and much harder this time. John kept his hand on him until he was done and then let go, watching as he slowly grew soft again. “Too bad,” he murmured and Sherlock awkwardly tugged at his hair, still unable to properly coordinate his hands.

“Take them off, I need to touch you,” he demanded, although his voice was a bit rough around the edges.

John grinned and shook his head. “You’re not going to touch anything. But I,” he stroked from Sherlock’s knee to his groin and then dipped his hand down to push Sherlock’s legs apart, “will do a lot of touching. Particularly,” he chuckled and wiggled his index finger until he found what he was looking for, “with my cock.”


	26. Sherlock's birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One the twelfth day of Christmas, Sherlock gets himself a present.

“John?”

“Hmm?” John opened one eye and immediately closed it again. It was still very dark outside; too dark for anytime near morning. Too dark to be awake.

“Jo-hon.”

“Sherlock. Go away.” John threw his arm across his face to shield himself from any light that Sherlock might turn on any second now.

Sherlock snorted and wormed his head under John’s arm, kissing his lips while wrapping his arms and one leg around him.

John couldn’t help but smile. “What’s going on?” he asked, hoping that Sherlock would start talking so he could go back to sleep to his voice.

“It’s the 6th of January,” Sherlock said with an air of something that shifted John towards awake faster than he would have liked. Then it hit him. “Fuck. It’s your birthday!” He opened his eyes and found Sherlock happily looking back into his.

“Is that an offer?” Sherlock grinned, his eyes gleaming in the dark; a weak reflection of the light from the street lamp outside.

“I forgot to get you a present.” John knew that Sherlock probably knew, and he wondered why he was still so happy in the middle of the night.

“Well … ,” Sherlock sighed and kissed him again. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You know I’m not very fond of celebrating my birthday, even though you are.”

“I can’t believe I forgot. It was those two cases and I really wanted to get you something special and then I didn’t have time to think and then … ”

“It’s fine, John.” Sherlock pulled away a bit and rolled over, switching on the bedside lamp. “Are you awake?”

John rubbed his face. “I guess.” He blinked a few times until the light didn’t hurt his eyes anymore. Sherlock was still smiling. “What are you up to?”

“You never opened the box,” Sherlock said, his smile turning into an almost gentle expression.

“What box?” John didn’t remember not opening any boxes; he had opened all the boxes he had come across lately; especially those dozen boxes full of files which had crowded their living room these past days.

Sherlock reached out behind him and produced the tiny box John had found on Christmas day when Sherlock had been in the living room, opening his gift. He had been sure that the keys for the handcuffs were in there, but they had never needed them as Sherlock had managed to unlock them on his own – after he had recovered from four consecutive orgasms. John wondered whether Sherlock was simply horny and wanted a birthday fuck before the sun rose; but he would be different if that was it. No, it wasn’t sex Sherlock was anticipating; he was smiling too much and touching too little.

Then it hit him, just as the realisation that he had forgotten about Sherlock’s birthday had hit him and he stared at Sherlock wide eyed. “Sherlock, you didn’t … you wouldn’t … you.”

“Open,” Sherlock said, and John saw that his hand was shaking very lightly. His heart was in his throat when Sherlock pushed the box towards him; the box he had shaken half-heartedly, thinking only of sex.

“Sherlock?”

“Open it,” Sherlock demanded, pushing the box into John’s hand.

And he opened it, and even though he knew that there were two rings in the box, he couldn’t see them through the tears which blurred his vision and made everything seem very bright.

“John?” Sherlock sounded a bit unsure of how to proceed, but then he rose on his knees and almost fell over when he put up one foot to be on one knee, towering over John who simply sat there, staring blindly at the box in his hand. Sherlock cleared his throat and John blinked, tears spilling and letting him see again and he looked up at Sherlock, not quite believing that this was actually happening.

“John, would you, considering that you forgot my birthday and I have the additional advantage of emotionally blackmailing you into saying yes,” John giggled and Sherlock’s lips twitched, and he continued, “do me the honour of giving yourself to me, as a present, to keep, for as long as we are both alive?” He let out a shuddering sigh after his little speech and John wasn’t sure whether he could trust his voice. So he nodded, the hand that wasn’t holding on to the box clawing at the sheets in order to not lose it right there.

“Well,” Sherlock watched him nod for a moment before he assumed an expression of self-assuredness, “that’s a rather lovely gift, I’d say. Perhaps the best one I have ever received.”

John finally let go of the sheets and grabbed Sherlock, who did fall over then and found himself in a tight embrace by his newly acquired fiancée. “You’re completely mad,” John said finally, letting go far enough to be able to look at Sherlock. “I do,” he said, tasting those words on his lips, knowing that he meant them. Sherlock relaxed in his arms and John kissed him gently. “But only if you promise to never die on me again.”

“I wasn’t dead,” Sherlock countered, making John hug him harder.

“Is three years too early to propose?” John remembered that his parents had waited much longer than that, and Harry had waited exactly three months and he knew what had come of that.

“I’ve known you for eight, so I guess it was really high time,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Of which two we spent completely oblivious and three with you being dead,” John kissed him again.

“We were highly compatible, though,” Sherlock grinned and took one of the rings out of the box, taking John’s hand. “Even without this we probably would have ended up spending our retirement solving crossword puzzles and chasing nurses around the home.”

John giggled again and let himself imagine that scenario. “The only thing that’ll be different now is that we can irritate them by kissing in the common room.”

Sherlock chuckled and with a long exhale pushed the ring on John’s finger. John did the same a moment later, finding his own hand shaking and he bit his lip to keep from rambling incoherent things about how Sherlock was insane and brilliant and amazing and fantastic, but he knew that Sherlock could read it in his eyes and he had the decency to blush when John put the ring on his finger.  “Happy birthday, Sherlock,” John smiled and then pulled him down into a searing kiss.

When they stopped kissing, Sherlock grinned and let his hand slide down John’s chest. “Now about your initial thought concerning my wish … .”


End file.
